Harry Potter and the Raving Psychopath
by Joanna May
Summary: Harry tries to convince Mrs Weasley he is truly gay. Mrs Weasley tried to convice Harry it's just a phase. No real pairing.


Harry Potter was sitting in a deckchair in the garden when the doorbell rang. It was perhaps the first time he had been truly relaxed this summer, even if he had to keep moving his feet to prevent them being bitten by the sullen gnome whose head he was using as a footstool. He started to put his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ aside and contemplating getting up to answer it when he heard Mrs Weasley beat him to it.

"Harry? Where are you, dear? I have someone I'd like you to meet!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry dragged himself out the chair. He had been perfectly happy sitting there in the sun. She was always complaining about how pale and gangly he was, yet whenever the opportunity to tan his knobbly knees arose, she never seemed able to leave him alone.

Slouching reluctantly into the hall, he felt his cynicism rise. Standing in the doorway was one of the loveliest girls he had ever set eyes on. Long, blonde hair cascaded down a narrow back in relaxed curls, and bright blue eyes peered shyly up at him from under sooty lashes.

Harry felt amusement bubble up in his chest. Why hadn't he expected it? Ever since he had confessed to the Weasleys that he was gay, Mrs Weasley had been convinced that it was simply a phase, and that if she found him a suitable young lady then everything would be alright.

Perhaps, when he was younger, Harry would have found this irritating and called Mrs Weasley an interfering busybody. However, he knew she meant well. She was simply old fashioned, and didn't mean any harm. It was touching, really, that she cared enough to try and help him.

"Harry, this is Gemma. She lives in the village and her mother runs the Women's Institute" Mrs Weasley smiled kindly at him, a twinkle in her eyes which almost made Harry laugh out loud. "I thought we'd have tea in the garden, dears"

She turned on her heels and headed out the patio doors, leaving Gemma and Garry to follow. Harry tried to catch the girl's eye to make light of the situation, but she seemed more concerned with the ground. A tense silence hung between them, painful in its embarrassment.

Waving her wand casually, Mrs Weasley summoned a table and three chairs. A plate of scones landed neatly on the checkered tablecloth, with a butter dish and jug of apple juice nearby. In true Mrs Weasley style, a small vase of flowers appeared to set the table off properly. With a maternal gesture, Mrs Weasley had Harry and Gemma seated in seconds.

"Well, this is nice, isn't it, dearies?" She cooed, passing each a plate and scone.

"It's lovely, Molly," Gemma agreed, spreading butter on her scone without looking once at Harry. "Such a beautiful garden you have here."

"Thanks, love." Mrs Weasley smiled.

There was a short silence. Mrs Weasley contentedly sipped her juice, before suddenly glancing at her watch. With a look of surprise that Harry just knew was faked, she leapt to her feet.

"Is that the time? Oh, heavens, I really must be off. Arthur needs a new set of spark plugs from that shop in the High Street, and it closes soon. Do have a good afternoon though, loves"

As she all but ran into the house, Harry sighed. This was so typical. He was always left to talk to the girls, when Mrs Weasley pulled something like this. Truly, he didn't mind, but it was always so _awkward _and while the girls she picked were _nice_, they never _talked._

After several minutes of a silence hanging in the air, Harry coughed nervously. "Are the scones…good? Are they good scones?"

Gemma looked at him, nervously. "They're lovely scones…are yours good?"

"Lovely too, thanks." He cast his mind around for another topic. One that did not involve romance, or dating, or _scones_. "I like…your hair."

Oh _shit_. "I like your hair?" That was practically a proposal. He hadn't meant to say that, but he'd run out of ideas. _The weather_! He was English, wasn't he? The English were a nation of scone lovers and weather enthusiasts, surely he could have just stuck to those and been the perfect English gentleman?

Gemma flushed a deep crimson colour, and Harry felt his heart sink. "Thank you. I did it especially for today. I don't normally make such an effort, you know it's so hard to find the right potions. And then you have to…"

Harry felt his attention slip. He had no interest in hair or potions. He had no experience of girly things like that, it was a mystery to him. Trying not to show his lack of interest, Harry made sure to nod every few minutes, hoping he seemed sympathetic to Gemma's trials and tribulations with her tresses.

"Well?" Gemma stared at him, and Harry realised he was meant to be responding.

"I quite agree, I think it's a very important issue." Harry nodded sagely, crossing his fingers under the table.

"You agree? How can you agree?" Gemma leapt to her feet, apparently incensed. "They test those things on poor little pygmy puffs and you agree with that?"

Harry sat there, bemused. How on Earth had he managed to insult her? He hadn't even been _listening_ to her! This was why he was gay. He would never understand women, no matter how many Mrs Weasley threw at him.

"No, of course not. I didn't mean…" He began, but she was on a roll.

"You're just like all the other macho men. I know your type. You act all hard and tough, but really you're just overcompensating because you've got a small wand!"

Harry's mouth fell agape in shock. He wasn't quite sure whether she was actually insulting his wand or being euphemistic, but it still stung.

"Molly told me you were such a gentleman, that you were sweet and funny." She paused for breath before ploughing on, "But really you're just a sadistic, masochistic _bastard_"

Alright, now Harry was certain that she was a nutter.

"This relationship is over!" She shrieked, before pausing, apparently to savour the devastation she seemed to think she was certain to evoke from Harry.

Harry blinked. "Gemma, I'm _gay_! We had no relationship! I met you an hour ago!"

"You're _gay_?" She shouted, shrieking like a banshee. "When were you planning on telling me this? At the altar? During the birth of our child?"

Shaking his head, Harry rose to his feet. "No, no, no. This can't be happening. No. You're mental." He massaged his temple with his thumbs, walking in a circle as he did so.

There was a sudden crash as the table levitated into the air and the scones slid to the grass. As Harry raised his head to look, it swooped towards him. He braced himself for impact.

"Everything alright, dearies?" Mrs Weasley's cheerful voice called from a window somewhere in the house.

Diving into a bush as the table landed where he had stood moments before, Harry managed to call out a reply.

"Everything's fine, Mrs Weasley. Never been better"

Panting slightly, he watched Gemma stalk across the lawn and out the gate, before collapsing flat out in the cool grass.

Yes, he thought, he was definitely gay.


End file.
